


The Female of the Species

by wordybirdy



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Girls are Weird, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordybirdy/pseuds/wordybirdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes encounters the lady Irene Adler, and learns a very valuable lesson. Namely, that girls are weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Female of the Species

Never let it be said that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a gentleman prone to frittering his money upon unnecessary sundries, with an inability to set aside a cache of pennies for a rainy day. Furthermore, it would be gross exaggeration to accuse my dearest friend and colleague of a careless disregard concerning all matters monetary, for although his enthusiasms for his hobbies ran very deeply and quite profoundly, he always kept one eye upon his wallet, taking great pains to never spend more than he ought.

Well. I only wish that the above statement could be the truth. Alas, that it is not.

For if any man is more sadly hapless with his finances, or more pitiable with his bank account, then I have yet to meet him. I have given up counting the number of occasions when my friend has returned home from one of his shopping excursions, laden with the latest fashionable tat, to croon over it fondly for a day or two, perhaps, only for it to be cast into a cupboard, forgotten evermore, before the week was out. And yet, this latest string of madness led to something else altogether, in a rather roundabout way. It is how Mr. Sherlock Holmes met the lady Irene Adler, and how he acquired the learning of a very valuable lesson.

But I appear to be indulging my unfortunate habit of telling my story backwards. So, I would ask that you permit me to start from the beginning. And this is how it began.

It just so happened that in the Spring of 1889 my friend was acting for Lord and Lady Algernon in the most vitally important case of the Leopardskin Footstool, the successful conclusion of the same bringing with it a considerable reward, which Holmes, needless to say, was unable to refuse. His excitement was apparent as he returned home that evening to reveal to me his glad tidings.

“Watson!” said he, grabbing me by my shirt-sleeves and twisting me around into an elaborate knot. “Guess what, guess what! And look!” He thrust a cheque up close in front of my face.

“What? What is it?” I reached up to take it, examine it further. “My goodness gracious, Holmes. Is this your fee? It is almost a King's ransom. How could you possibly accept such a large sum from Lord Algernon?”

“I earned it,” Holmes said, proudly. “I was clever. I solved the case. Give it back.” He snatched the cheque from me. “I am going to buy myself something pretty.”

“Oh, no you are not,” I said, alarmed. “In case you had forgotten, Holmes, there are a great many bills that would benefit from being paid now that we finally have some capital. Not to mention reimbursing Mrs. Hudson for various damages to property and furniture over these last months. As well as --”

“Oh, pooh-pooh,” said Holmes, waving me away. “That's _boring_. What is money _for_ , if not to enjoy when one is in possession of it? The bills can wait a little longer, and so can Mrs. Hudson. I have had my eye on a certain something in the back room at Crabapple Antiques for a while now, and at long last, I am able to afford it.”

He jigged triumphantly upon the hearth-rug. I frowned my remonstrance.

“This is very bad form,” I said. Then: “Might I ask what it is that you are planning on purchasing?”

“I am not telling you,” Holmes replied. “I do not think that you would like it. But that does not matter, because it is my money.”

“How much does the item cost, then?” I asked. “Surely not the whole amount that you have earned?”

“Not quite,” he said. “There should be a bit left over.”

“I do hope so. We have _bills_ to pay...”

“Watson, you are worse than any nagging wife when it comes upon the subject of money,” my friend complained. “Not that I have any experience in that area, of course,” he added. “The first thing tomorrow, I shall pay a visit to Capital and Counties and deposit this cheque. Cheer up, my dear fellow, don't look so disapproving, for if the wind changes you'll just be stuck like that.”

True to his word, Holmes paid in the cheque the following morning. He remained tight-lipped upon the subject of the object in the back room at Crabapple Antiques, but I was led to believe that he called in upon the owner there, a Mr. Thomas, to place a reserve and a small deposit. He was in good humour, therefore, when he returned home shortly before lunchtime. I felt loath to cast a shadow upon his sunbeam, but I felt that I ought to relay the message I had been passed by our landlady.

“While we were both out on our errands this morning, you had a visitor, Holmes,” I informed him. “The lady left her card, and intends to call again.” I picked the card up from the sideboard and handed it to him. “The name is unfamiliar to me.”

“ _Irene Adler_ ,” read Holmes. “No, I have no prior acquaintance. Anyway, never mind her. Look at what _else_ I found while I was standing around in the antiques shop.”

With a flourish he produced a slim package from his coat pocket, which he proceeded to unwrap with some glee. Ignoring my tuts of disapproval, he eventually brought forth the grand prize. I groaned.

“Oh, Holmes, not another Persian slipper...”

“I like it.” He placed it to one side and looked at me, his mouth downturned.

“But you have a whole _cupboardful_ of the blasted things, and you only ever use one of them for your tobacco. You do waste your money.”

“I do not. It was either this slipper, or another clockwork monkey. I had a very hard time deciding.”

I shook my head. “So did you place your reserve upon the other... thing... that you wanted?”

Holmes brightened immediately. “Yes. As soon as the cheque clears then I will be able to pay the amount in full and arrange delivery.” He twisted around, eagerly scanning the room. “I just need to find a suitable place for it to stand.”

“How large is it?!” I looked about in consternation. “Holmes, we really don't need any more furniture in this room, it is quite full enough.”

The downstairs bell rang, then. My friend huffed and flung himself down into his armchair, snatching at his pipe and thrusting a large pinch of shag into the bowl. From below we were able to hear the footsteps of our landlady, a short conversation upon the doormat, and then the footsteps of two ascending towards our sitting-room door. A quick tap, and Mrs. Hudson was in upon us.

“Gentlemen, you have a visitor,” said she. “A Miss. Irene Adler, who paid a call to you this morning.”

She stepped back to allow the lady to enter the room.

Irene Adler was a tall, imposing woman, in her early 30s, perhaps. Her hair was dark brown and lustrous, cut fairly short and pinned back. She was dressed in full riding habit; in her right hand she carried a riding crop.

“You rode into the city, Miss. Adler?” enquired Holmes, standing up from his chair.

The lady looked at him, nonplussed. “No,” she said.

Holmes shifted uncomfortably; he looked at me.

“I have come to speak with you today, Mr. Holmes,” continued Miss. Adler, “on the subject of sponsorship.”

“Sponsorship?”

“Yes. Sponsorship.” Our visitor sat down upon the edge of the sofa. She tapped her crop against the side of her boot. “You may not be aware that I am a close personal friend of Lord and Lady Algernon, and they were kind enough to give me your details.”

Holmes lowered himself slowly into his chair, eyeing the lady suspiciously. “So?” he managed, eventually. “Sponsorship for what? A Regatta?”

“No. It is for a new opera foundation, which I am involved with. We are called 'TrillsAplenty'.”

“ _TrillsAplenty?_ ” My friend's tone was incredulous. “Whatever sort of a name is --”

“We are a new foundation,” interrupted Miss. Adler, “and we are seeking sponsorship. My friends Lord and Lady Algernon informed me that you were a gentleman of considerable means, keen in the arts, and as such you might be willing to sponsor us.”

I looked across to my friend, whose eyes, I regret to say, were fairly popping out of his head with indignation.

“I see. So this is not a case whereby you engage me for my services, the end result being, I get paid. You want _me_ to give _you_ money. How quaint.”

“It is _sponsorship_ , Mr. Holmes. For a worthy cause!”

“It is still me giving you money, Miss. Adler. I am not an eccentric millionaire.”

Miss. Adler rummaged in her pockets and extracted a small sheaf of papers, which she proffered to my friend.

“Here are some more details,” she said, with a tight smile. “You enjoy the opera, do you not, Mr. Holmes?”

“No, I do not,” said Holmes. “It is like a bagful of cats being prodded with a sharp stick.”

The lady drew herself up with an expression of affront. “I am a mezzo-soprano,” said she.

“Bagful of cats,” Holmes repeated. He scowled at her. “And a sharp stick,” he added, for emphasis. He accepted the leaflets reluctantly, glowering down at them as though they were toxic waste. “Do I have to read these?” he asked.

Something akin to a small flame sprang to life in Irene Adler's handsome expression, then. I caught it unmistakably as a challenge accepted. I groaned inwardly.

“Yes,” said the lady, “I do ask that you look over them after I have gone. I imagine you might find it interesting reading, and potentially rather rewarding.” She leaned forward and tapped at Holmes's knee with the tip of her riding crop. He jerked back as though stung.

“Get off!” said Holmes. I saw him eyeing up the poker. I stepped forward in an attempt to defuse the situation.

“What my friend means to say is, he will be very happy to read your pamphlets, Miss. Adler, and if you would care to call upon us again in a few days time, we shall listen to anything further you wish to tell us regarding your foundation.”

Holmes shook his head frantically at me as though that was the absolute very last thing he would be happy about. Miss. Adler appeared not to notice, however, for she was beaming at me and rising to her feet, smoothing down her riding jacket.

“That is indeed very kind of you, sir,” said she. “I shall return at the end of the week, then.” She turned to my friend, and held out her hand. When his own was not immediately forthcoming, she waved her riding crop in a gesture of farewell. Nodding in turn to me, she swept from the room, the door shutting smartly behind her.

Holmes looked at me in mute horror. “She hit me with that whippy thing,” he said, in a tone of disbelief. “And she gave me a funny look.”

“I'm not at all surprised,” I said, dryly. “You behaved terribly rudely towards her, Holmes.”

“No, not that kind of a look,” he said, “ _this_ kind of a look.” He grimaced and winked at me. “Like that.”

“She winked at you?”

“Yes. What do you think it meant?”

I chuckled. “I cannot possibly imagine. Perhaps she liked you, in spite of everything.”

Holmes sat down heavily. He tinkered with his pipe. “I didn't like _her_ ,” he said. “She's mad. She doesn't even have a horse.”

“That was a little odd,” I agreed. “At any rate, read the leaflets, and then you can simply inform her – _politely_ – that you decline her invitation of sponsorship when she calls again. Don't pull such a face, Holmes, it will take just a few minutes of your time.”

Two days passed us by without further argument. The pamphlets lay untouched upon the mantelpiece, unattended even by the jack-knife. I think we both forgot about their existence, and that of Miss. Irene Adler, for Holmes in particular had a larger event to occupy his excitement. The cheque finally cleared; my friend might now pay his final visit to Crabapple Antiques – for despite all of my scoldings I had been entirely unsuccessful in persuading him otherwise. The deed duly done, all that remained was to sit back in anticipation of the delivery.

On the Thursday morning I left 221B for a couple of hours, for an appointment with my tailor. Upon my return, and as I climbed the stairs up to our rooms, I could hear Holmes humming merrily to himself, and the sound of small items of furniture being rearranged. I frowned, and hastened my step. Throwing open the door, I entered the room.

“What the –!”

For immediately to my left, standing up against the wall, there was a statue, some five feet tall. It was a shimmering pale marble. It was a Greek youth in an extreme state of deshabille.

“Holmes,” I said. “Good god.”

Holmes bounded up to me. “What do you think of it? Do you like it? Isn't it magnificent?”

I took another, closer look at the statue. “It cannot possibly remain there,” I said, eventually.

Holmes's face dropped. “Why not?” he asked.

“It isn't wearing any _clothes!_ ” I expostulated. “We cannot have a statue like this in our sitting-room; it will petrify Mrs. Hudson, to begin with. Can't you move it into your room?”

Holmes looked unhappy. “I didn't spend all that money for it to be stuck in a room where I'm hardly ever at,” he complained. “Mrs. Hudson will get used to it. We can always turn it to face the wall before she comes in.”

“I am not at all sure that that would be any better,” I said, dubiously, peering around behind the naked youth. I prodded at it. “Holmes, it wobbles.”

“The floorboarding is uneven there,” my friend replied, irritably, “but that is the only free space for it. It will be all right.”

I sighed. “I am unhappy about this,” I said, aware all the same that disapproval was futile.

The statue remained in situ for the remainder of the day. I retired to my bedroom for a nap in the early evening. When I rejoined my friend downstairs shortly before dinner, I noticed with some amusement that he had thoughtfully tied a broad tasselled scarf around the marbled midriff.

“That looks nice,” I said, chuckling.

Holmes exhaled heavily. “It seemed to embarrass you, so I thought that to be the best solution for the present.”

“Holmes, it is not _me_ that is embarrassed, it is simply for the sake of – oh, never mind.”

If our landlady was perturbed by the new addition to our sitting-room, then she made no mention of it, although my heart was in my mouth with the anticipation. By the following morning the statue seemed almost quite at home. I found myself nodding absent-mindedly to it as I passed it on my way across to the breakfast table. When the doorbell rang at 10 o'clock, I saw Holmes's head swivel up to the mantel.

“Drat,” said he. “It must be that woman again, and I did not read those wretched pamphlets.” He darted to the fireplace and plucked them down from the shelf, riffling through them in agitation.

“Why should it bother you, if you are going to refuse her anyway?” I asked, curious.

Holmes looked up. “I don't want her to whack me again,” he said. “Or do that thing with her eye.”

Our visitor was indeed the lady, Irene Adler, who entered the room with just the slightest of taps, striding forward, before doing the most dramatic double-take upon our statue.

“Oh!” exclaimed Miss. Adler. She fingered the scarf, still tied around its middle. She lifted a tassel. “Oh ho!” she said.

“Stop it,” said Holmes. “What do you want?”

“You know why I am here,” said the lady, smiling at the both of us. “I am very pleased to see you again, I must admit it, Mr. Holmes.”

“You are still wearing that... costume,” said Holmes, thoroughly unnerved.

“Costume?” Miss. Adler appeared uncomprehending. She slid the riding crop down inside her boot. “I suppose so. Did you read my pamphlets, Mr. Holmes?”

“A bit, yes.”

“And?”

Holmes frowned. “I... liked the pictures?” he offered. His eyes were fixed upon the crop tucked into the lady's boot.

“The words are more important,” said Miss. Adler. She picked up the leaflets from the side table where my friend had cast them, and pointed at the cover of one with a slender finger. “This one is particularly informative. Might we depend upon you for a generous sponsorship?”

“I don't like opera!” Holmes wailed. “And besides, I just spent all my money on that.” He pointed at the statue. “So I don't have any left to give you. Not that I would have anyway,” he added.

“Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what do you think of me?” Miss. Irene Adler stepped towards my friend. “I confess that personally, I find _you_ rather intriguing. It is a shame, is it not, that we might not have the opportunity to get to know one another in more... detail, as it were? If you were to sponsor us with whatever sum you might be able to spare, I promise you that I would be very... attentive to your... suggestions.” She smiled at him.

By this point it was as if I was absent from the room altogether. I looked at Holmes to see what his reaction to the advance might be.

Holmes had taken the same number of steps in retreat, towards the window. “If you wink at me again, I'll scream,” he said. “Watson! Tell her.”

“Miss. Adler,” I said, as soothingly as I was able, “Mr. Holmes does not feel that he can afford any level of sponsorship at this moment in time. Please do understand. That does not mean that he does not admire you greatly, however, for he holds you in high esteem --”

“I do not!” interrupted Holmes. “She's as mad as a box of monkeys.” He backed away another step.

Irene Adler's lip curled; her teeth bared. She gave a small, almost imperceptible snarl. “I see,” she said. “You are rejecting me. And furthermore, you are rejecting TrillsAplenty.”

“Yes,” said Holmes. “You catch on very quickly, I must say.”

“Very well, then,” said she. “I shall take my leave, and you will not see me again.” She turned, and moved haughtily towards the door. “I shall, however, leave you with a reminder of me.”

Her hand swooped to her right boot and snatched up her riding crop. With a well-aimed swing she struck hard at the neck of Holmes's precious Greek statue. The statue teetered, shook, and began a deathly forward motion. Holmes shrieked, and swooped for it; I did the same, but it was too late. As the lady Irene Adler vanished from our rooms and from our lives, the statue clattered to the floor, whereupon it smashed into several dozen marbled fragments upon the rug.

“That cow,” said Holmes, looking down upon the mess. “That bloody cow.”

“Holmes,” I said, “I really am most terribly sorry. I think that the statue is quite beyond repair.”

“It cost a fortune!” said he. “I only had it for a day!”

I patted him on the shoulder. “I suppose the moral is, that one should never overspend on that which is unnecessary or irreplaceable. And moreover, one should _never_ insult a lady by informing her that she is as mad as a box of monkeys.”

“I can promise you the former,” said Holmes, thoughtfully, “but I cannot swear upon the latter. For that seems to me to be the case with all examples of the female species.”

I smiled fondly at my dear friend. “I shall call down to Mrs. Hudson for a dustpan, sack and brush,” I said.


End file.
